


losing my way (in another world)

by havershhm



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chapter 4 is up!, Gen, Rated T for Ed's Pottymouth, and for a little violence, but it's not graphic, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havershhm/pseuds/havershhm
Summary: Alternately titled: Ed Gets Lost (A Lot)After the battle in Gluttony's stomach, Ed is transported to a world he doesn't know- a world where magic exists, and where yet another power-mad man searches for immortality. How to return to Amestris? Ed doesn't know yet- but he's going to find out.
Comments: 71
Kudos: 242
Collections: Clever Crossovers & Fantastic Fusions, FMA At Hogwarts





	1. 0: prologue

_This is it,_ Ed thinks, staring at the souls he is about to sacrifice to save an enemy, a friend, and himself. They writhe and morph, crying out for aid, laughing maniacally, their cacophonous screams muting to a dull roar in the alchemist’s ears. He has to do this. It’s the only way. _The only way I’ll get to see Al again._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He can feel Envy’s disdainful gaze, but he refuses to look into the homunculus’ monstrous eyes. So what if he pities them? These souls deserve respect, even if they no longer remember who they are. “But I need to use you.”

There. He can do it now.

Grunting, he forces shaking arms into position. His flesh arm protests the movement, but he ignores it. Pain doesn’t matter. Only getting home matters.

“Get ready!” he shouts. He claps, then places his hands in the center of the array.

Light bursts out from the array, blue at first, but changing quickly to a bloody red. Shadowy hands emerge, wriggling and reaching for something to hold onto and drag into the portal.

Ed almost smiles, and despite the terror he can feel building inside, he is calm. The eye opens beneath him, and he stares into it. After the dark, macabre abyss of Gluttony’s stomach, this, at least, is a familiar nightmare. “Long time no see,” he mutters. “Too bad this isn’t why I planned on opening you again.” He tears his gaze away and shouts, “Ling, jump in it!”

Ling gasps. Ed can’t see the other boy, but his indecision is palpable. After a moment, he shouts, “You better know what you’re doing! I’m trusting you!”

Ed doesn’t turn to look, but he hears the discomfited grunts that mean Ling is being deconstructed. More than that, he can almost… sense it. He can feel that the portal, the portal he opened, has begun to let through an unexpected guest.

He hears the agonized moans of the souls and spares a glance, watching as their tortured faces disintegrate. A sacrifice. _Thank you,_ he thinks, watching one peaceful countenance disappear into whiteness. _Thank you._

He is the only one left. Wincing, he glances back to the portal, feels his own skin, his innards, his very soul fracturing into tiny fragments-

Then, nothing.

\\\\\|||///

_Nothing. Nothing. Nothing and nothing but him, hurtling through the nothing, alone and lonely until he hears it, the rushing, the sound of everything, and he can’t see it but he feels it, everything unraveling to base components and reforming into something new and perfect and impossible, and his body and soul and mind are separate but together, flowing forward inexorably to a destination he knows like he knows the darkest ideas that have ever entered his thoughts-_

\\\\\|||///

Truth sits on emptiness, smiling wide. “ _Now what’s this?_ ” it says into Ed’s mind. “ _You’re not even trying to get your body back, are you?_ ”

\\\\\|||///

“W-were there always two portals?”

\\\\\|||///

“AL! Ergh, Al, c’mon! PLEASE! Hurry, Al! AL!”

“I can’t,” Al whispers. “I can only leave with my own soul.”

\\\\\|||///

“I’m sorry I can’t go with you,” Al says, unsmiling against the onslaught of his brother’s screams, and Ed, being dragged away from everything that matters, can do nothing.

\\\\\|||///

_I’ll be back. He has to know I’ll come back for him someday._

A metal fist punches the Gate open.

\\\\\|||///

“Alphonse! Look at me. I promise! Someday soon, I’m coming back for you! Just you wait. WAIT FOR ME!”

\\\\\|||///

The Truth, far from the eyes and ears of any being capable of understanding, laughs. “ _Oh, silly little al-chem-ist,_ ” it hisses. “ _There’s more to this toll than you’ll ever know._ ”

(///|something is different|\\\\\\)

Albus is just settling down behind his desk to sign some paperwork when a bell starts ringing in his head.

For a moment, Albus is utterly perplexed and deeply concerned. It is in the nature of magical alarms to instantly inform the caster of (in the case of wizards who have laid numerous spells of such caliber, such as Albus) which wards have been breached, where, and how, but the information he is receiving makes absolutely no sense. How can someone have simply appeared in the middle of Godric’s Hollow Cemetery? The anti-Apparition charms he layered over the area were foolproof… or so he’d assumed, since he’d never had reason to believe they weren’t. Evidently Albus had overestimated his abilities.

Albus only allows himself a moment of confused contemplation before rising to his feet. “Fawkes, to me,” he says.

Obediently, the stunning creature lifts his head and chirps before hopping from his perch to Albus’ arm. His talons dig into Albus’ flesh slightly, but it doesn’t hurt. Fawkes is lighter than he looks.

With a wave of his wand, a scroll of parchment unrolls itself, and a quill scribbles a note to Minerva on it. Another wave, and the note folds itself into the shape of an airplane and zips out the window to find its recipient.

“And we’re off,” Albus says, and he and Fawkes burst into flame. A moment later, they’re gone, with only the faintest hint of smoke remaining to show they were even there.

\\\\\|||///

The odd pair materialize outside the gates, and Albus dismisses Fawkes with a stroke of his fiery plumage and a soft, “Off you go, now.” Fawkes bobs his head and takes flight, soaring into the night, but Albus knows his faithful phoenix won’t stray too far. That’s one of the best parts of having such a fantastically powerful creature as a companion: no matter how far he wanders, Fawkes can always return to his side in a matter of seconds.

Albus doesn’t wait to see Fawkes disappear, instead turning towards the wrought iron gates of the cemetery and passing through them in silence. It has been a while since his last visit, but the graveyard looks the same; dark, overgrown in places, but ultimately well-kept, with evidence of other visitors in the floral wreaths that adorn some of the newer graves.

Albus passes the Potter grave, with its usual abundance of flowers and trinkets, but for once doesn’t stop to pay his respects. The intruder didn’t disturb the Potters, which surprises Albus, but he has no time to wonder why. The klaxons ringing in his skull are pulling him further on, and he frowns. Surely not…

Albus reaches the Dumbledore family plot and freezes in his tracks.

There, before the graves of his father, mother, and sister, lies a person dressed all in black with long blonde hair. Albus scans them and concludes that this person (evidently the one that set off the alarms) is a man. Or, no, his face is far too young. A boy, then, a _child_ , not possibly older than 16. Worse yet, he’s covered in blood.

Albus kneels beside the boy. He is unconscious, breathing steadily. The amount of blood is disconcerting, but it can’t belong to the child, thankfully. He sees no evidence of bleeding wounds, just a splint around his arm. The blood is fresh, though, still wet and shiny in his hair. Albus swallows heavily. Whatever happened to this boy was obviously traumatizing.

Slowly, Albus reaches into his robes for his wand.

Like lightning, the boy springs into action. His hand whips forward, gripping Albus’s wrist tight. (His fingers are slippery and red.) In an instant, he’s on his feet, twisting in ways that shouldn’t be possible, and the next thing Albus knows, he’s being pressed into the ground, his wand arm behind his back at an uncomfortable angle.

“Who are you?” the boy demands. His voice is clear, and clearly furious. “Where am I? What the fuck is going on?”

Albus can’t reply. He’s old, and the position of his arm is quickly progressing from uncomfortable to painful. He manages a hurt gasp.

The boy doesn’t release him. If anything, his grip tightens, and Albus groans as his arm is pressed further into his back.

“Answer me!” the boy hisses.

“Please stop,” Albus whispers. “I can’t-”

This seems to do the trick. The hold on Albus loosens, and he breathes for a moment, in and out, grateful that his arm is no longer causing him such distress.

“Shit, you’re old,” the boy seems to realize. He lets go of Albus entirely, and the elder rises painstakingly to his feet to face his attacker.

Said attacker is still poised to fight. He is mostly focused on Albus, but his eyes (which are a strange shade that Albus can’t quite make out in the dark) dart about his surroundings.

“Who are you?” the boy asks again, firmly. The surprise he expressed upon realizing the age of the man he grabbed shows nowhere on his face. On the contrary, his expression is cold and empty of emotion. He doesn’t look young anymore.

The headmaster sighs. “My name is Albus Dumbledore. Are you all right?”

The boy doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he snorts humorlessly. “That’s not a real name. Tell the truth.”

“I assure you, it’s quite authentic,” Albus says. He’d be more amused by the boy’s contrariness if the situation wasn’t so urgent. “I must ask again, are you all right? Do you know how you arrived here?”

“I’m fine, old man,” the boy snaps. His fists lower, though, as if he’s ascertained that his surroundings are less of a threat to him than he is to them. “As for how I got here, I think you should be the one to answer that question.”

Albus shrugs. “I’m afraid I’m as clueless as you, my dear boy. You appeared in this cemetery, covered in blood, and you bypassed all my wards to do so. I’d hoped you’d be able to shed some light on the situation, but evidently not.”

This explanation doesn’t satisfy the boy. His eyes narrow. “Okay, first off, grandpa, I’m not your dear anything. Do you have any idea how creepy that sounds? And second, what do you mean, wards?”

That’s not a good sign. If this child doesn’t know what wards are at his age (14? 15? He acts so much older, though) then he’s either had a vastly subpar magical education… or he’s a Muggle.

Albus really hopes he isn’t a Muggle.

Before he can decide on a next course of action, Albus notices something. An odd glint. It draws his attention to the boys hands.

One of his hands is made of metal. It’s clenched into a fist.

The boy notices Albus’s gaze and glares at him. “What, you’ve never seen a guy with automail before?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Albus murmurs. “What’s your name?”

The boy backs away slightly, his arms coming up to hold a defensive position. “I’m still waiting for a real name, gramps.”

“Once again, my name really is Albus Dumbledore,” Albus says. “I’m the headmaster of a school in Scotland. Surely by now you know that I mean you no harm, and even if I did, I doubt I could overpower you.” Not physically, at least, but if the boy isn’t magical, there’s no reason to expose himself by pulling out his wand. “Please, I would like to know your name, at least.”

The boy frowns, but seems to accept this. His arms go back to his sides, metal fingers moving just as easily as the real ones.

“Edward,” he says at last. “My name is Edward. What did you mean when you said you’d never seen automail before? And what’s Scotland?”

 _Ah,_ Albus thinks. _This might be a bit more complicated than I expected._

*end of prologue*


	2. 1: to Hogwarts we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed learns about magic, and he and Dumbledore make their way to Hogwarts.

In the end, there’s no choice. Edward has no idea where any of the countries Albus mentions are. He’s never even heard of them. England, Germany, Italy, the United States… none of them strike even the smallest chord. He clearly came to be in the graveyard due to some unnatural happenstance. To leave him there, alone and lost, would be irresponsible at best. He has to take Edward with him.

This, of course, brings about the subject of magic.

“Did you say _magic_?” Edward says, snorting in a most uncouth manner. They’ve made it to just outside a tavern not far from the cemetery. They’ve yet to enter due to the issue of Edward being covered in blood.

It’s fortunate that Albus can take care of that.

“I did indeed,” Albus replies amiably. “I mentioned that I work at a school in Scotland? Well, I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Edward lets out a bark of laughter, then rolls his eyes. “Sounds more like a nuthouse to me.”

“You have an arm made of metal and you appear to have traveled here from another world, but you draw the line at magic?” Albus asks goodnaturedly. “I must say, young man, that your reasoning is utterly incomprehensible to me.”

Edward frowns up at Albus. Truly, he is small for his age (fifteen, almost sixteen, he had told Albus), but his spirit so greatly outweighs his stature that it feels as though they are staring eye to eye. There is such intelligence hidden behind that golden gaze, and it fascinates Albus.

“Magic doesn’t exist,” Edward says bluntly, leaning against the wall next to the tavern window. Albus winces at the bloody imprint he will surely leave, hoping no one will notice. “It defies the laws of nature. Singing a few gibberish words and waving a stick around won’t do jack shit. It’s nonsensical and insane, and honestly, old man, I think you’re a lunatic.”

Albus smiles kindly. He has had far worse reactions, and besides, he can prove it.

With a furtive look around to ensure that no one is paying attention (there’s no one out at this time of night, but one can never be too careful), Albus draws his wand from his robes with a flourish. He watches Edward’s eyes widen at the intricately carved wood, unable to keep from admiring it even in his state of denial.

Albus points his wand at the blood on Edward’s clothes and murmurs, “ _Scourgify._ ”

In an instant, the blood is gone.

Edward stares down at his clothes, then back at the wand in Albus’s hand.

“How the hell did you do that?” Edward demands, voice raised to the point where he’s almost shouting.

Albus sighs. “Please, Edward, I must insist that you lower your voice. People are sleeping.” Edward scowls and begins a retort, but Albus continues, “As for how I did it, I’m afraid the only explanation I can give is magic.”

Edward snorts. “Magic isn’t an explanation. It’s just what people call science that they don’t understand.” His voice is lower, even and convinced, but he’s eyeing the wand like it’s going to explode.

Albus simply smiles and gestures at the tavern door. “I promise to answer as many of your questions as I can inside. Shall we?”

\\\\\|||///

“This is bullshit,” Ed mutters. “I can’t fucking believe this. Here, of all places? _Magic?_ ” He knows Albert Dumby-whatsit ( _Al_ , his mind whispers, and Ed resolutely ignores it) isn’t quite following why he’s so annoyed, and he doesn’t care. All of this is absolutely, one hundred percent shit, and it’s all Truth’s fault.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure how else to prove it to you,” Dumblefuck says. Ed really hates him and refuses to remember his name.

“No, it’s been proven,” Ed grumbles. “I believe you. I believe that this weird-ass world has…” He shudders. “... _magic_. I don’t like it, but unless you have a Philosopher’s Stone…”

Dumber-than-rocks startles, his weird sparkly eyes widening in shock. “You know of the Stone?” he whispers. “You know of alchemy?”

Ed stares at him. Did he just say…

“You know what alchemy is?” he asks, leaning forward over the table. “It exists here?”

Dumpling-man nods, his sunny facade fading to a concerned frown. “Indeed. It is seen as an obscure branch of magic, although it was originally attempted by Muggles-”

“Muggles?” Ed asks.

“Non-magical folk,” the old man explains. “They don’t know of the magic this world possesses. If they did, no doubt they would persecute us, as they have in the past.”

That doesn’t sit right with Ed. In Amestris, alchemy was pretty well-known. Some mistook it for magic, but most understood that it was a science of the highest order. Not everyone liked alchemists, especially not State Alchemists, but they weren’t actively persecuted. No, that was an honor reserved for the Ishvalans.

“Alchemy isn’t magic,” he tells the wizard. “It’s a science. Anyone can do it. There’s no innate ability, it has to be learned like any other skill.”

Bumblebore leans back in his chair, unobtrusively scanning the pub. Ed wants to laugh, recognizing the look of a man with secrets. Mustang wore it all too often.

Bearded Old Mustang tilts his head. “And you are an alchemist, yes?”

Ed grins. “I’m not just any alchemist. You’re looking at a prodigy, old man.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you could address me by my name.”

“I’m sure you would not appreciate what I would call you at all.”

“Then if you would, I would prefer to be called Professor, if you must address me,” he says.

Ed rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Professor.” He’s not an idiot. He knows better than to antagonize his only source of information on this world. (Or at least not to antagonize him too much.) “But yeah, I’ve been practicing alchemy since I was a kid. My bro-” Ed stops. Swallows. “I taught myself.”

Ed knows Professor Duckledoor caught his slip, but he thankfully lets it slide. “Well, I should not be telling anyone non-magical about this, but I think for someone from another world we can bend the rules a little.” He smiles. “Besides, we don’t actually know that you aren’t magic.”

Ed scoffs. “Uh, I’m pretty sure I’d know if I was magic.”

The professor shakes his head, still smiling. It’s infuriating. “Many don’t know until they’re tested. For children who are born here, magic usually presents itself by the time they’re eight years old. Since you have lived in another world, a world without magic, for your entire life… well, there’s no way of knowing without a test.”

Ed freezes. Tests are never good. “What kind of test?” he asks warily.

“It’s a simple enough spell,” he explains.

“A spell? On _me_?” Ed yelps.

“It’s not harmful, I promise.” The professor doesn’t explain further, simply drawing his wand, disregarding the other patrons in the tavern.

“Didn’t you say magic is a secret? Should you be doing it in a public place?” Ed questions desperately.

“This is a wizard-only tavern,” the professor says. “And actually, the fact that you could see it points strongly to you having magical blood. But just to be sure…” He waves his wand in Ed’s general direction. Ed has no time to brace himself.

The sensation of the spell is warm, almost uncomfortably so, like sinking into water that’s just the right side of too hot. And at the same time, Ed feels… something. Inside him, there’s a reaction, in the vicinity of his chest, that roils and squirms and _responds_ to the spell. Ed knows before the professor says anything.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he says.

“Well,” the professor says, eyes twinkling and smile self-satisfied, “it appears you have some magical ability. How odd, considering you come from another world. It is convenient-”

“No, hold the fuck up!” Ed exclaims. “You just did a spell on me without asking!”

The professor nods, conciliatory. “Yes, and I’m sorry for that, my boy. It was a necessary step in order for me to see if I could tell you more. I’d already said too much without checking. It truly is quite convenient for the both of us that you are able to perform magic, considering it’s your best chance of getting back to your world.”

To this, Ed has no response. He can’t breathe suddenly, his lungs uncooperative. He hadn’t… he wasn’t thinking about… he’d been distracted, before, by the shock of being somewhere new again, after the hours in Gluttony’s stomach. It had dulled him to the realization that _he is in another world._ A world he might never escape.

Not without magic, anyway.

How had it not occurred to him?

“Edward?” the professor asks, smile gone. He looks… concerned? “Are you quite all right?”

Ed nods, shakes his head, then nods again. “I’m fine,” he mumbles. “And… and you’re right. I’ll need magic… to find my way home.” He can feel the panic gripping at his insides, setting his limbs aquiver. He imagines himself next to the panic, and chokes it, sees his automail fist squeezing around an unclear throat, and beats the emotion down until the spots in his vision have cleared. His hands clench, his breath stutters, but he is breathing. And he knows what he has to do.

He leans forward, meeting the professor’s cool gaze with his own fiery one. “Teach me everything you know, Professor.” He bows his head, staring down at the table, in an unusual show of deference. “Please.”

He can feel the professor’s heavy gaze on the back of his neck, but he doesn’t move. This is a crucial moment, he knows. He remembers Teacher’s eyes on him and Al when they had begged her to take them back as students. Her allowing them to be her students had been what catapulted them from talented kids to prodigies. He needs this old fart to do the same.

He can’t see the man’s face, but he can almost sense the smile as he says, “Well, I couldn’t leave you to your own devices. Of course I will teach you, my dear boy.”

Ed breathes out a sigh of relief.

“However,” the professor continues, “I do have a full time job. I won’t have much time to tutor you. So how about this: you will come to Hogwarts with me, and I will teach you when I can, and we will have some of the other teachers help with your schooling.”

Ed balks. “Me? At a school?” he asks. “I haven’t had proper schooling since I was, like, six!”

The professor barely blinks at that. “It’ll hardly be proper schooling. I doubt we could put you in official classes without raising questions that I’m sure you would prefer remain unanswered.” He smiles. “No, I’m afraid we’re going to have to take a rather… unorthodox path for you.”

At this, Ed smirks. He can handle unorthodox. Then his expression melts into a frown. “This is too much,” he says. “You’re doing this for me and I’m giving you nothing in return. It’s not equivalent.”

“I require nothing from you, Edward,” the professor tries to say, but Ed waves him off.

“No, it doesn’t matter that you don’t need anything, it’s the principle of the thing,” Ed insists. “If you and your teachers are going to help me, I have to do something to help you. Equivalent Exchange.”

The professor frowns thoughtfully. “This is something you care about deeply. This… equivalent exchange.”

Ed nods.

The professor sighs. “Very well. If you’re certain, I’m sure you could assist our groundskeeper and caretaker. They tend to have things well in hand, but Argus, our caretaker, is getting on in years, and our groundskeeper, Hagrid, I’m sure would not mind a bit of extra help. How are you with physical labor?”

Ed grins. “I can handle it.”

“Then we have a deal,” the professor says. He extends his hand and Ed eyes it warily for a moment before reaching out and taking the handshake. His automail clinks as it moves, and his other arm throbs, reminding Ed once again that it’s injured.

“Now that that’s sorted,” Ed says, “maybe your magic can do something about my broken arm.”

\\\\\|||///

Albus knows he could probably mend Edward’s arm well enough himself, but he’s not willing to take any chances, so instead, he makes a suggestion.

“At Hogwarts, we have a mediwitch on staff. If you’ll accompany me, I’m sure she could heal your arm far more effectively than I.”

Edward considers this for a moment, then shrugs, wincing when the motion jarrs his wounded limb. It interests Albus that the injury didn’t seem to bother him earlier in the evening, when he attacked the elder. Adrenaline, perhaps, or a truly shocking tolerance for pain. Either way, it’s certainly hurting him now. Albus is no expert on Muggle healing methods, but the splint encircling Edward’s flesh arm is shoddily made and he knows Edward likely requires more serious medical attention.

“Sounds good to me,” Edward says, pulling Albus from his thoughts. “Although… it’s not a long trip, is it?”

“Not at all,” Albus assures him, smiling slightly. “One might say it’ll pass in the blink of an eye.”

Edward eyes him suspiciously. “You said it was in Scotland and that we were in England.”

Albus’s smile widens. “When you have magic at your disposal, most trips can be shortened with ease.” He stands. “Walk with me, Edward.”

Edward grumbles something Albus doesn’t catch, but rises to follow him over to the fireplace. It’s a hulking red brick monstrosity, and on a small table next to it sits a bowl filled with a shimmery green powder.

Pointing to it, Albus explains, “That’s Floo powder. You take a pinch of it and throw it in the fire, and when the flames turn green-”

“Green?” Edward interrupts, eyes widening somewhat as he examines the powder. Doubt is written plain across his face, but also a hint of wonder.

“Yes, green,” Albus says, trying not to let his sudden rush of indulgent warmth show in his voice or face. _What a curious young man._ “Then you step into the fire-”

“ _Into the fire?_ ” Edward’s incredulous exclamation draws a few stares from the pub’s meager patronage, and the soft feelings in Albus are tempered by a bit of irritation.

“We’re not going to get very far if you’re constantly interrupting me while I’m teaching you, Edward,” he admonishes him.

Edward scowls and appears to be ready to rant when he pauses. “You’re already teaching me?”

“This is magic, is it not?” Albus offers. “And you’re learning about it through me. I’d say that, as of this moment, our lessons have officially begun.” Ed starts to grin, but Albus continues, “That means that I would appreciate attention while I’m explaining something, after which I would be happy to answer any questions you may have.” He twinkles at Edward over the rim of his glasses. “Any questions that aren’t simple repetitions of information I’ve already said, that is.”

Edward flushes a little, but quickly recovers from his embarrassment. He mimes zipping his lips and stands at attention. Perfect attention, actually. As if he’s been replaced by a military officer.

_Curiouser and curiouser._

“As I was saying, once the flames turn green, one simply steps into the fire, says the name of the place they’re going, and then is transported to the fireplace associated with that name.”

Edward’s stance relaxes into what seems to be his default slouch. He steps towards the table and hesitantly reaches out a hand- the metal one- to poke at the powder.

“How does it work?” he asks.

“I’ll admit that I have not studied the subject in much detail, since it’s so commonplace in the wizarding world and has been for generations,” Albus says. “It was invented in the thirteenth century by Ignatia Wildsmith, and it’s main ingredient is Floo. Unfortunately, I don’t know much more than that. The production of Floo powder is a closely guarded secret.”

Edward snorts, staring at the glittery green dust that had stuck to his finger. “I’ve heard that one before,” he mumbles. Then he turns back to Dumbledore. “So where are we going? And how much of this shit do I need?”

Albus frowns at the cuss, but says, “Just a pinch will do. And we’re going to Dumbldore’s office, Hogwarts.”

Edward nods, collecting a small amount of the powder and tossing it into the fire immediately. The flames erupt in green. Albus blinks, surprised that the boy is so willing to try the magical mode of transportation.

“Anything else I need to know before I do this?” Edward questions, looking straight into the emerald flames with fascination.

“Just keep your elbows tucked in, stare straight out of the grate, and speak as clearly as you can,” Albus answers.

The boy nods and, with the barest hint of trepidation, steps into the flames. The awe on his face when he isn’t burned is clear to see, and he grins wildly.

“Dumbledore’s Office, Hogwarts,” he says, and in a whirl of green is gone.

\\\\\|||///

Ed stumbles out of the fireplace, coughing and shaking soot from his shoulders. Then he freezes. “Whoa.”

The room he emerged in reminds him of his father’s study, only larger and even more cluttered. Strange gadgets whizz and pop on every surface, and the walls that aren’t covered in bookshelves and cabinets hold portraits whose occupants appear to be _moving_ slightly. The room is far from silent, but the buzzing of the instruments is oddly soothing. The effect overall unnerves Ed. Nothing he usually associates with his father can be described as “soothing.”

Not a moment later, the professor steps elegantly out of the fireplace and dusts off his robes. “Now, to the infirmary.”

He strides out of the office, leaving Ed to hurry after him. As they walk, Ed curses his less-than-average height, since he has to walk pretty fast to keep up with the annoyingly tall man.

The halls outside the office (down a spiraling staircase and out through a gargoyle- _nice_ ) are just as over the top as Dumbledore’s office, although somewhat less decorated. More portraits and suits of armor ( _Al_ , he thinks again, and pushes it down even more ferociously) line the walls. The castle- for it certainly is a castle- seems very in line with Ed’s own style, which he appreciates. He’s still disoriented from traveling by Floo, so it takes him a moment to gather his wits enough to say, “Some digs you’ve got here, old man.”

He can see just enough of Dumbledore’s face to catch his wry smile. “Our ‘digs,’ as you so eloquently put it, are something we take great pride in. This castle has stood here for centuries. It has seen countless witches and wizards through its halls and protected them. I thank you for appreciating it; so many take it for granted.”

They continue walking in silence for a moment. Portraits stare down at them and whisper to one another. And speaking of that-

“What’s with the portraits? How can they move?” Ed asks, hoping it’s not the answer he thinks it is.

Fortunately, Dumbledore replies, “A complicated bit of spellwork involving memory, plus a simple enough enchantment on the paint itself, allows our paintings to retain the consciousness of their subjects.”

“So every painting here is of a real person?”

“Indeed.”

More silence. They approach a staircase and start to walk down it. Ed glances around and sees that some of the staircases are _moving_. He gestures to them. “Let me guess: it’s magic.”

Dumbledore’s smile doesn’t appear to have left his face. “You catch on quickly. However, I can elaborate on any spells you wish to learn more about later, once we have taken care of your arm.” He gestures to a landing, and they exit the staircase and make their way down another hall. “It is fortunate that the school year has just started: Poppy’s stocks have yet to be depleted. She should have everything she needs to take care of your injury.”

“Poppy? That’s the nurse?”

“Yes, although you may call her Madam Pomfrey. And what you call a nurse, we call a mediwitch or wizard.”

Ed snorts. “That’s dumb. Nurse is better, and it’s one word for all genders.” He pauses. “What are you going to tell her about me?”

“Nothing about your origins,” Dumbledore assures him. “Simply that you are going to be working at Hogwarts and that you are injured.”

“And she’ll take that as an explanation?” Ed asks doubtfully.

“She will not ask too many questions. You’re with me, and she trusts me.”

“Huh. Okay then.” He looks at the walls, at the torches glimmering in their sconces. “Is that gonna work for everybody?”

“My staff are loyal and all have faith in me. Some may have questions, but we can surely assuage them with some story. We have time to think on it. Ah, here we are.”

They stop outside a huge pair of metal doors engraved with patterns. Ed can’t help but think of the Gate, and shudders slightly. “Big doors for an infirmary.”

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we wizards are rather fond of the dramatic.” He eases the door open, and it groans. “Poppy? I’ve a patient for you.”

They walk into a room with large windows and walls painted white. At least a dozen beds line the walls, all made up neatly and with curtains that are currently pulled back.

A moment later, a plump, matronly woman bustles out of a side door, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “Albus? But it’s the middle of the-” She freezes, staring at Ed, who is immensely grateful to no longer be covered in blood. Her gaze traverses his body and comes to rest on his metal hand, and her eyes widen comically. “Who is this? And why is his hand made of metal?”

_Whoops. Probably should have asked for some gloves._

“Ah,” Dumbledore says, and Ed can tell that he forgot about it as well. He can’t blame the man, really. In the face of their other, more staggering revelations, like interdimensional travel, one metal arm really didn’t amount to much.

“It’s fine,” he says, before the professor can try to bullshit his way out of this. “If she’s gonna treat me, she’s gonna have to find out about the arm eventually.” He nods respectfully to the woman. “So you must be Madam Pomfrey. Think you can fix me?”

*end of chapter one*


	3. 2: running away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed gets healed and runs into someone new.

Poppy Pomfrey is the consummate professional. She pushes down her shock with aplomb and gets to work immediately, settling Edward on a bed and examining his broken arm.

“This is a Muggle splint,” she muses, manipulating the boy’s arm to test how much it can move. Edward winces, and she gentles her touch. Albus, standing off to the side, smiles at his employee’s caution. She’s truly a fine mediwitch. “I’ll have to remove it. It’s amateur, but well-made.”

Edward says nothing, but smirks slightly. Proud of his skills, perhaps? Or of whoever made the splint, since Albus doubts Edward could have managed it one-handed.

And isn’t that an interesting thought. Someone else with Edward. The brother he almost mentioned? So much of the young man is still a mystery.

Albus will have to fix that.

“I don’t suppose either of you will tell me _how_ you broke your arm,” Poppy asks sternly. Edward shrugs, glancing almost imperceptibly at Albus, not sure how much to reveal. Albus nods, implicit permission for Edward to tell her whatever he sees fit. Poppy is trustworthy.

Edward nods, too. “Accident,” he says simply. “I stumbled my way into someplace I shouldn’t have, got a little knocked up. The old man-”

“That’s Professor Dumbledore to you, young man,” Poppy reproves.

“It’s alright, Poppy,” Albus assures her. He appreciates the respect she shows him, but truth be told, he’s grown rather fond of the epithet. He also gets the sense that Edward isn’t one for traditional notions of deference.

“But Headmaster!” she protests.

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Ed interrupts, rolling his eyes. “ _Professor Dumbledore_ found me and helped me out. Told me you could patch me up better than he could.” He eyes the mediwitch and adds, “You happy?”

Poppy puffs up indignantly, but Albus places a hand on her elbow. “Please, Poppy,” he beseeches. “He needs your help.”

For a moment, it seems Poppy will launch into a tirade at him instead of Edward, but then she sighs and slides her wand out of her sleeve. “I’ll need to do a diagnostic spell.”

Edward, who had almost appeared to be lounging on the hospital bed, stiffens noticeably. “This spell… what does it entail?”

“Nothing strenuous for you or me, just a simple scanning spell,” she replies, then notices Edward’s tense shoulders and narrows her eyes. “Why are you so nervous?” Her eyes widen, and she whirls on Albus. “You didn’t bring a Muggle boy here, did you?!”

“Of course not, Poppy,” he says immediately. “I tested him myself. He has magic.” Albus eyes Edward, wondering if he should reveal just how little the boy knows of magic.

“But he’s a child! Why isn’t he in school?”

Well, there went the option of not explaining. Albus starts to speak, but Edward says, “I slipped through the cracks. Only found out about magic when the old m- sorry, _Professor Dumbledore_ found me and tested me.”

Poppy frowns. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Well clearly it is,” Edward retorts. Poppy seems about to take umbrage at that, but her gaze turns towards the boy’s arm and softens once more.

“The spell won’t hurt,” she says instead of whatever cutting remark she might have made. “You might feel a bit colder where the spell is focused, but it shouldn’t be bothersome.”

Edward makes a face but mumbles, “Okay, do it I guess.”

Poppy nods and begins moving her wand, murmuring the spell under her breath. Albus watches with interest, as he enjoys viewing the application of medical magic. He was never quite as gifted with those spells as he was with others, and it was always good to see a master at work.

Edward flinches when he feels the cold she warned about, but relaxes quickly, getting used to it. Poppy moves her wand over the broken arm, nodding to herself, then makes for the other, but Edward snatches it away.

“The metal goes up to my shoulder,” he tells her, ignoring her shudder. “You won’t get anything out of it or my left leg below the knee.”

Poppy stares. Albus does, too. He hadn’t known the prosthetic reached so far, let alone that there were two. Two missing limbs on a fifteen year old boy?

“How did you sustain these injuries?” Poppy demands. “And how did you get such advanced prosthetics? They move just like regular limbs! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Yet another problem. How to explain this to Poppy?

“Accident when I was a kid,” Edward responds almost immediately, startling Albus out of his thoughts and schemes. “The arm and leg were made by a friend of mine. They’re prototypes, and Muggle ones at that, so I doubt you’ve heard of them.”

Albus must admit that that was a better story than he could have come up with. He knows Poppy keeps up with some Muggle medical journals, but a prototype made by a friend is mostly unassailable. Unless Poppy asks about the friend.

“And where was this ‘friend’ when your arm got broken, hmm?” Poppy inquires.

Drat.

Edward seems perfectly primed to answer though. His gaze lowers, and he says, “I haven’t seen her in a long time. I don’t really… have a home anymore.”

And that is the truth. Albus can tell that Ed isn’t much of a liar. The excuse of an accident when he was a kid was clearly a falsehood told many times and grown familiar, the Muggle prototype idea an off the cuff invention. The headmaster is good at discerning liars; he’d had to be, over the years. Edward is not a liar.

This honesty appears to appease Poppy, because her hand reaches out as if to comfort the boy, but she draws it back quickly and resumes her task, clearly realizing that this was not the kind of boy you comfort. She scans his torso and lets out a small “hmph.”

“Broken ribs,” she says. “A clean break in them, though they appear to have been jostled somewhat. The arm is a fracture and will be a tad more difficult, but it shouldn’t take too long. I’d recommend bed rest here after I’m done-”

“No,” Edward says. “I’ll rest somewhere else. I’m not staying in the hospital any longer than I absolutely have to.”

Albus and Poppy both give him disapproving looks, but the boy’s jaw sets firm, and Albus knows he won’t budge on this.

“I’ll allot you quarters in the castle, Edward,” Albus says. “You can rest there.”

“He’ll be staying, then?” Poppy asks, summoning a roll of bandages and taking the splint off Edward’s arm with startling efficiency. She asks him, “Is it okay if I perform a spell to realign the bone fragments in your arm?” Edward nods, and she does so. She does the same for his ribs, once again asking permission.

As this goes on, Albus replies, “Yes. He needs to learn magic. He’s already fifteen, it’s remarkable that he hasn’t injured himself or others with accidental magic.”

“‘He’ is right here, y’know,” Edward grouches. He pats at his ribs, and Poppy swats his hands away, wincing when she hits the metal one.

“No touching,” she scolds. “I still need to heal them.”

Edward stares. “You can heal them _right now_?”

Poppy scoffs. “What kind of Healer would I be if I couldn’t mend a few broken bones?” She points her wand at his torso. “May I?”

It’s interesting that she’s been asking for permission. It seems that, like Albus, she senses that the boy is still skittish around magic, particularly magic being attempted on his person. She’s doing her best to make him feel comfortable and in control, despite his rude manner.

Edward nods his assent, and she performs the incantation and waves her wand in a complicated pattern twice. Then she nods. “That’ll be it,” she says. “Now- Edward, did you say?- if you insist on leaving the hospital wing, I won’t stop you, but I do recommend being gentle on your arm and ribs.”

Edward jumps up from the bed with barely contained glee and feels his arm and chest, marveling at the lack of pain. “Awesome!” he exclaims. “Thanks!”

If Poppy is surprised at the gratitude, she doesn’t show it, simply saying, “You’re welcome, Edward.”

But Edward is already racing towards the door, clearly not minding his recently healed injuries at all. “Come on, old man!” he shouts behind him. “We’ve got things to do!” He whips through the door like a shot and is gone.

Poppy’s gaze bores into Albus. He can feel it, even as his own gaze is directed at the slowly closing door.

“Who is he, Albus?” she asks, confusion coloring her voice. “What happened to him?”

Albus sighed. “That’s what I hope to find out.”

\\\\\|||///

Ed should _not_ have left the infirmary on his own. This is made abundantly clear when he makes it down the hall and is immediately lost. Turning around doesn’t help because corridors branch off in all directions, and he can’t tell which way he came from.

“Ah shit,” he mutters. “This isn’t good.”

Ed knows it would be a better idea to stay still and wait for Dumbledore to find him, but another part of him- the part that’s curious to the point of idiocy- wants to explore without a guide and see just what this castle has to offer. And Ed has never been the best at listening to reason.

“Might as well,” he decides. With that, Ed picks a direction at random and starts walking. He observes his surroundings with keen interest, certain that he hasn’t seen these particular portraits before. The suits of armor are smaller than he’s used to, but he still can’t see them without thinking of Al ( _Al, alone and uncertain, not knowing if I’m alive or not-_ _no, shove it down, don’t think about that_ ), so he avoids looking at their hollow, empty helmets devoid of soulfire.

He walks for a long time, putting distance between himself and the man who brought him here for no good reason other than he’s tired of the man’s attitude. Dumbledore’s too smiley. The only person Ed’s met who smiles that much is Roy Mustang, and he had all kinds of secrets to keep. Ed bets Dumbledore isn’t much different.

Ed realizes he’s stopped making up stupid alternatives for the professor’s name in his head and curses himself. “Can’t get complacent and start actually calling people by name all of a sudden,” he grumbles to himself. “It’s Dumblefuck from now on.” It isn’t convincing. Deep down, Ed already knows he’s decided to trust Dumbledore the same way he decided to trust Mustang, and he hates it. Both men inspire great loyalty in those they employ, including, apparently, Ed.

Which is perfect. Just what he needs: blind faith in another man who has his own schemes in the mix.

To be fair, though, Ed has plans too. This is for his gain, so he can find a way back to Amestris- back to Al.

And now he’s thinking about Al again. Not that he’s really ever stopped. The panicked worry that while he’s trapped in this weird fucking hell world, with fucking _magic_ , Al is alone and scared and doesn’t know where Ed is, has never truly disappeared. Ed can’t help it: he hasn’t been separated from Al for this long since he first got his State Alchemist certification. He’s not handling it well. In fact, he’s not handling it _at all_. All he’s been doing since he got here is pushing and pushing at that fear, trying to bundle it all together and hide it somewhere deep inside himself, but it keeps bubbling up again.

Ed’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t notice that he’s no longer alone in the corridor.

“And just what,” a voice drawls from the shadows, “do you think you’re doing?”

Ed whirls around.

The speaker is a man, taller than Ed ( _Which isn’t saying much,_ his inner Mustang sneers, and Ed decks the motherfucker in the face. Since when did he have an inner Mustang?) and with medium length, greasy-looking black hair. His long robes, also black, give him the appearance of a disgruntled bat. His hooked nose draws attention to his face, which is set in an unpleasant smirk. The bastard looks happy to have caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

Unfortunately for him, Ed’s allowed to be here. Maybe. He thinks. Never once did Dumbledore say no wandering off, and he’d probably vouch for Ed if it came down to it, so even though he kind of sort of ran away from the old man, he’s willing to bet that this dick doesn’t have shit on him.

The teacher- because he must be a teacher, even though he looks super creepy- scans his face and clothes, and the smirk becomes a frown. “You aren’t a student,” he says warily. He whips out his wand in a moment and points it directly at Ed, who puts his hands up placatingly. “Who are you? How did you enter the castle?”

“I came with Professor Dumbledore,” says Ed. He’s not about to fuck around with a wand pointed at him. He still doesn’t know the upper limits of this magic shit. Dumbledore made all the blood on him vanish with a single word. Pomfrey healed his broken bones. Who knows what this man could do?

The man in question sneers. “A likely story. Tell the truth.”

“No, really. You can ask him yourself.”

“I cannot,” the man replied. “The headmaster is out of the castle on business. Your lies won’t be fooling me.”

“He’s back now! I was the business!” Ed protests. “Just take me to his office. He probably went there when he couldn’t find me after I left the hospital wing.”

This gives the greasy man pause. Maybe it’s the detail of the hospital wing. Details make a story more believable, and it helps when it’s the truth. He looks Ed over again, and Ed hides his right hand behind his back as discreetly as he can. He could do with no more questions about that tonight.

“Very well,” the man nearly growls, but he doesn’t put his wand away. “Walk in front of me. We’ll see about this.”

Ed walks forward, hearing the man fall into step behind him. _Hopefully the old man is in there. Otherwise, who knows what this guy will do to me?_

\\\\\|||///

Edward is nowhere to be found when Albus exits the hospital wing, and he sighs wearily. He doesn’t fancy searching for the boy through Hogwarts many halls, but he can’t just leave him, can he? It’s easy to get lost in the castle.

Then again, perhaps Edward remembered the way back to Albus’s office. It was a small chance, but it was the only other place the boy had been inside the castle. Decision made, Albus strides back in the direction of his office.

Unfortunately, when he arrives, there’s no sign of Edward. Albus sighs again and makes his way over to his desk. At this point, his best hope is to wait for Edward to make his own way back, or, more likely, for a teacher on patrol to find him and drag him to the headmaster’s office for questioning. Either way, it’s the same result.

About half an hour has passed when his second prediction comes true. He hears the gargoyle downstairs groan open, and moments later Edward walks into the room, scowling, with Severus’s wand pointed squarely at his back.

“Now, what’s this?” Albus asks, knowing exactly what this is.

Ed opens his mouth to reply, but Severus quickly says, “I found this boy wandering the corridors. He said you brought him into the castle. Is this true?”

Oh, paranoia. Albus hopes it will one day no longer be necessary for his employees to be so vigilant.

Instead of voicing this thought, he nods. “Yes, I brought Edward into the castle. It’s alright, Severus.”

Severus lowers his wand slowly, suspicion written across his face. “He was telling the truth, then.”

“I could have told you that,” Edward mutters, earning himself a sharp glare from the Potions master.

“Yes, he was,” Albus confirms. “I found Edward in Godric’s Hollow. He’d accidentally set off the wards I set in the graveyard there, so I went to investigate. Edward was injured, and I discovered he had magic, despite never being registered for schooling. Obviously I had to bring him here. You know how dangerous an untrained wizard can be.”

Edwards stares at him in shock. He must be surprised by the amount of the truth Albus is telling Severus. Admittedly, Albus wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but as soon as he sees Severus’s face relax into its usual sallow expression, he knows he made the right choice. Severus needs information to trust, and this amount of the story doesn’t reveal anything about Edward’s origins.

Albus claps his hands together, startling both Edward and Severus. “Now that that’s settled, it’s getting quite late. Severus, continue your patrol and then get some rest. I have a few more things to discuss with young Edward here.”

Severus hesitates, then nods, acquiescing. He sends one last glance Edward’s way, then leaves.

The room is silent, but for the whirring of Albus’s machinery. It’s always comforted him, but Edward is tense. His gaze is golden, and Albus realizes this is the first time he’s actually noticed the unusual color of his eyes. It’s hard to miss now, though, with the full force of their fire focused on him.

“So,” Edward begins. “You told him more than you told Pomfrey.”

“Severus likes to have facts to rely on,” Albus says. “Location, reasons- they’ll allow him to trust me, and in turn trust you.”

Edward wrinkles his nose. “Severus, Albus… you wizards sure have weird names.”

Albus can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re correct in that, I suppose.”

A pause.

“Are you going to tell the other teachers that version, too?” Edward asks.

“That depends. Do you want me to?”

Edward thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “I don’t think it’ll cause too much suspicion,” he decides. “Go for it. They all seem to take your word as gospel anyway.”

“Good. I will inform them of your presence tomorrow. For now, I believe it’s late enough that you should be turning in.”

Albus can see the moment the day’s events catch up with Edward. His eyes droop, his shoulders slump, and he seems to curl in on himself slightly. Clear signs of exhaustion.

Albus rises from his desk and walks over to the door. “Come with me,” he says, opening it and gesturing for Edward to walk through. “I know we have an open room not too far from here. It’ll be harder to get lost walking back to my office.” He winks at Edward, who blushes bright red and fervently doesn’t say a word.

They spend the walk to the room in silence. When they arrive, Albus wishes Edward goodnight.

“Yeah, night, gramps,” the boy says tiredly, walking in without a backward glance. The door shuts behind him, and Albus is left standing there, wondering at the pleasure blooming in him at the thought of being Edward’s grandfather.

“Now I know I’m getting old,” he says aloud, and the portraits are kind enough not to comment.

*end of chapter two*


	4. 3: sleepless night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed makes a friend (almost) and he and Dumbledore discuss the way forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first notes of the story! hi everybody!
> 
> this chapter took a while to get written, and, unfortunately, it doesn't really move the plot along :/ but the next chapter should be where things start getting interesting, so enjoy some interactions between characters until then

Ed doesn’t sleep that first night. Instead, he lies awake, staring around the room and cataloguing what it contains to distract him from thoughts of home.

There’s a nice bed, a four poster with curtains, more comfortable than perhaps any other bed he’s ever laid on. ( _Al is alone._ ) There’s a cupboard against the wall, presumably for clothes that he doesn’t have. ( _Winry tried to shoot Scar and is still waiting on me to come back and explain to her how Scar killed her parents._ ) A small desk and chair sit before the lone window, staring out into the night. ( _Ling is stuck with Envy and who knows what else._ ) There isn’t anything else of note in the room, so he keeps running through those three things. Bed. ( _Mustang and his team will know something’s amiss, but they won’t know what._ ) Cupboard. ( _Winry is in Central and is_ waiting _for me to come back._ ) Desk. ( _Al thinks I’m still in Gluttony’s stomach and he doesn’t_ know _and he might think I’m_ dead-)

It’s a long and exhausting wait until morning, and it leaves Ed more tired than he thinks he’s ever felt. Usually he can’t stop sleeping unless he has a nightmare. The insomnia, he decides, is not a better option. At least with the nightmares he gets some rest out of it.

When the first rays of light begin to shine through the window, Ed knows he’s not going to fall into unconsciousness. He rolls out of bed and walks into the center of the room. It’s not a particularly large room, but the sparse collection of items in it gives him plenty of space to stretch. He guides himself through his exercises, missing the words of encouragement Al would occasionally direct at him, and his sparring capabilities, and his mere presence.

Damn it. He misses Al.

Ed finishes his last set of push-ups and does a final split against the wall, holding the position and breathing for thirty seconds before relaxing and rolling his shoulder. He’d been fine last night, but throughout the hours of sprawling across the bed and trying desperately to distract himself, pain had built at his ports. Glancing out the window confirmed what he already suspected: cloudy weather, leaning towards rain.

“Just my luck,” he grumbles. “Could Hogwarts not have been somewhere with nicer weather?”

No one answers. Ed regrets speaking out loud. It won’t do to get used to talking to himself- people already tend to think he’s crazy when he’s just behaving normally (for him, at least). That means policing his behavior, something he hates more than Homunculi.

Well. Almost more than Homunculi.

With his mood firmly in the pits, Ed figures he might as well get a jumpstart on the day. After all, what’s better than wandering through a completely unfamiliar and possibly hostile territory on no sleep? He nods to himself and heads for the door.

It’s only after exiting that Ed realizes he doesn’t remember which direction Dumbledore’s office is in. And he has no idea where anything else is in this stupid magic castle, either. Ed’s groan echoes through the hall, drawing titters from nearby portraits. He flips them off and ignores their muttering about uncouthness. He’s been transported to another world and he didn’t get any sleep; he’s entitled to some whining.

Ed closes his door behind him. It doesn’t lock, but that doesn’t matter. He has nothing of value in there, nothing that truly belongs to him, nor much of anything else. Hopefully today he’ll get that sorted out.

His stomach grumbles. _And some food,_ he thinks. _I haven’t eaten in ages._

Now, how to get to Dumbledore’s office? After a moment of contemplation, Ed has an idea. He turns to the portrait closest to him, which is of a woman in a long red dress sitting at a table. She looks bored, and she had laughed when he flipped the portraits off, so he figures she’ll be the most inclined to help him.

“I’m looking for Dumbledore,” he says to her. “Do you know how to get to him?”

The painted woman smirks. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” she observes.

Ed shrugs. “I’d like to think so. Why?”

“You’d be surprised how few students think to ask the portraits for directions,” the woman says, waving a hand as if dismissing the hordes of fools who couldn’t look at the walls and realize that there were semi-conscious beings there that could be of assistance. Ed sympathizes; he’s spent plenty of time dealing with idiots. Not so much with children his age, though. He’s glad his bargain with Dumbledore will mostly involve him interacting with adults. That’s what he’s used to, aside from a few small children he’s befriended. (Just another way to feel like shit, thinking about them. _Push it down._ ) “You seem to have decided to do so very quickly. Ergo, you’re a smart kid.”

Ed pushes down the urge to yell that he’s no kid, because he needs this painted lady’s help. “What’s your name?”

The woman preens slightly. “Delfina Wilderwood, at your service, Mr…?”

“Elric,” Ed says, revealing his last name for the first time in this new world. Not even Dumbledore knew it… but no one knows of him here, so why is he still keeping it a secret? Might as well tell this random portrait of some long-dead witch. Might as well tell _everybody_. “Edward Elric.”

“Well, Mr. Elric, you’ll find Professor Dumbledore in the Great Hall at this hour.” She gives him a look. “Have you been shown the Great Hall?”

Ed shakes his head. “I haven’t really been shown much of anything. Just Dumbledore’s office and the hospital wing.”

Delfina snorts inelegantly, and Ed finds himself liking her even more. “That’s no tour, even by the most generous standards. Come on, I’ll take you down to the Great Hall.” With that, she rises from her chair and passes easily from her own frame into the next.

“Holy shit!” Ed exclaims, rushing forward to examine the space between the portraits. “You can move between paintings? How does it work?”

“It’s a spell,” Delfina replies. “Not the most difficult, but certainly beyond the likes of you, Mr. Elric. You don’t know the first thing about magic, and you expect to understand it immediately?”

Ed bristles. Slights against his intelligence aren’t easily brushed off; he’s brilliant, has been since he was barely out of toddlerhood. His first instinct is to tear Delfina to shreds- metaphorically speaking, of course. But he stops himself. _I need her help. I can’t antagonize the people I need help from._ It’s with intense effort that Ed takes a breath and steps back from the wall he was examining. “You’re probably right,” he says nonchalantly, putting his hands in his pockets. “So you’ll show me to this great hall or whatever?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” Delfina is already a few portraits away, leaving Ed to run and catch up. “It’s my duty to help lost students.”

“I’m not exactly a student,” Ed admits.

“Oh, I know,” Delfina chortles. “I’ve never seen you before last night, and you’re at least fourteen; if you were a normal student that would be very unlikely. Also, you’re not wearing the uniform.”

Ed scowls. “Gramps didn’t mention a uniform.” Ed has never been one for uniforms: he never wore the military blues, and he hopes Dumbledore won’t try to make him wear this, either. That wouldn’t go well, especially if the uniform is one of the stupid robes all the wizards seem to wear. Nah, Ed will stick with what he’s got, though he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on some transmutable fabric. He’s been in the clothes he wore through Gluttony’s stomach for a few days and, despite whatever magic mumbo-jumbo the old man used to get the blood off him, he feels kind of gross.

He’s also missing a shoe. His automail foot is on full display for anyone who cares to look lower than his knees. That’s not ideal. Hopefully, no one pays attention to his feet, at least until he can talk Dumbledore into getting him some new shoes.

“No uniform, no problem,” Delfina assures him. “Professor Dumbledore has historically been lenient about this sort of thing. Let me take you to the Great Hall. You need some shoes and some food.”

So she’s probably seen both his hand and his foot and is just not mentioning them. Ed appreciates the subtlety. Everyone in this world has had a reaction to his automail that’s very obvious; it’s nice to have someone just accept it and not ask questions. Although, to be fair, in a world where automail isn’t common, it’s definitely something to gawk at. Even in Amestris people sometimes gawked.

Delfina is moving from portrait to portrait, not waiting for Ed to follow, something else Ed should be annoyed by but instead finds admirable. He likes people who say what they mean and don’t waste time. He’s got no patience for bastards like Mustang and Dumbledore, who talk in circles and are rarely straightforward.

Ed follows the painted woman down flights of stairs, losing sight of her occasionally but hearing her calls of “This way!” and “Just around the corner!” As he does, he tries to keep track of the turns they’re making and the corridors they’re trekking through, but there’s just too many, and Ed gives up. The journey takes forever, because this place is apparently larger than any building Ed has ever seen. Bigger even than Central Command. Bigger than the _Armstrong mansion_ . And no less extravagant, in its own medieval, torchlit, fucking _magical_ way.

Thinking of Armstrong manages to distract Ed, who stumbles and nearly falls flat on his face when Delfina says, “Here we are!”

They halt outside the most gargantuan pair of doors Ed has encountered yet. The hall they stand in is enormous, large enough to fit Winry’s house and his own childhood home inside with room enough to spare. Everything here is oversized, and Ed’s starting to feel targeted as… less than average size.

 _This is not my morning,_ Ed thinks. “Through there?” he says aloud.

“Yes! The Great Hall should be mostly empty, it’s not quite breakfast yet, but Professor Dumbledore likes to- hey! Where are you going?” Delfina shouts after Ed, who scampers towards the doors with no more than a shout of, “Thanks for the help!” He barely hears her mutter something about ungratefulness, but he pays it no heed. Instead, he pushes the doors open and faces the hall.

\\\\\|||///

Albus is used to being the first in the Great Hall on weekends. Many students don’t even show up to breakfast, preferring to use their days off to sleep in. This morning, it’s only him, Minerva, and Severus at the head table, and Severus has been glancing his way since he entered the hall. He knows Minerva’s noticed, and she’s side-eyeing the Potions Master suspiciously. Even after all these years, her trust in him only runs so deep.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Severus?” Albus asks mildly. He turns to face his employee, who makes a face like he’s trying to swallow something unpleasant.

Severus opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment, the doors to the Great Hall groan open. All three of them turn to see the lone figure who has disrupted their solitude. Albus tries to find itself in him to be surprised that it’s Edward, but he can’t. The boy has the most impeccable timing.

“Who is that?” Minerva asks. “I don’t recognize him.”

“He is what I’d like to discuss,” Severus hisses, watching the boy approach between the House tables.

“Yo,” Edward says, which certainly does nothing to endear him to Severus. “Gramps, we’ve got stuff to talk about.”

Minerva takes offense to this and says, “That’s not proper address of the Headmaster.”

Edward rolls his eyes. “Fine, _Headmaster_. You got time for a chat?”

Albus glances at his half-eaten breakfast of toast and eggs and back at Edward. He wants a chance at the potatoes, but he doesn’t think he’ll get it. “You wouldn’t want to sit down and eat with us for a moment?” he tries anyway.

“It’s a little time-sensitive,” Edward replies, and there’s a clinking sound from his right pocket, where his metal hand is hidden. Ah, of course. And Albus had never obtained a shoe for him, either. An oversight indeed.

Albus holds in his sigh and rises to join the boy. “Minerva, Severus,” he says, nodding to his utterly nonplussed employees. “I will talk over what you wished to discuss later. Meet me in my office before lunch.”

The pair clearly have no idea what to think of this and exchange a look before giving their assent. Severus’s face is set in a stony mask of suspicion, Minerva’s a picture of confusion. Albus regrets that he must leave them like this, but he doesn’t know how much Edward is willing to share with them. It’s something they have yet to consider. He, of course, trusts them wholeheartedly, but who knows what Edward is comfortable with?

Albus heads for the end of the table. Across from him, Edward mirrors him, meeting him at the edge. “Well, off we go,” Albus says to the boy, who rolls his eyes yet again but falls in step alongside him. Together, they exit the Great Hall, leaving two befuddled Hogwarts teachers in their wake.

The Great Hall’s doors shut with a soft _boom_ behind them.

“I really need shoes and gloves,” Edward says immediately. “If we’re going to keep my automail a secret, they’re a necessity.”

Albus nods. “Yes, I agree. I can conjure gloves for now, but you might wish to replace them with real gloves, as conjured materials only last so long. I would say the same for shoes, but conjured shoes tend to be quite uncomfortable.”

“Why is that?”

“The conjured material must support a person’s weight, and it puts stress on the enchantment,” Albus explains, leading them through the corridors towards his office. “Making things comfortable with magic also takes more effort from the spellcaster, and the more stress on the enchantment, the harder it is for it to stay comfortable.”

Edward makes a noise of understanding. “So I need real shoes, then. That’s fine. Get me some rubber and leather and I can make them myself.”

“And how will you accomplish that?” Albus inquires.

Edward gives him a look reminiscent of one that might be called for were he glaring at a pile of rubbish. “Alchemy. Duh.”

“Ah, but of course.” Albus had almost forgotten that the boy claimed to be an alchemist. Yet another mystery. “I can provide you with these materials, but in exchange, I ask that I be allowed to observe some of your alchemy.”

Edward frowns, looking skeptical. “Why do you want to see it?”

“I’m curious as to how it compares to this world’s alchemy,” Albus explains. He doesn’t say that he wants to gauge Edward’s true talent, but it’s also a motivator. The boy said he was a prodigy. Albus wonders how accurate that assessment is.

His abbreviated explanation seems to be enough for Edward, because he relaxes and nods. “Okay. I’ll show you.”

“Excellent. And we’re here.”

The gargoyle that leads to Albus’s office stands tall and imposing before them. “Password?” it grunts. Edward doesn’t even startle. He likely got over his shock last night, when Severus brought him here.

“Lemon drop,” Albus says, and the passageway groans open. The pair step on to the escalating staircase and ride up in silence. When they enter the office proper, Albus walks over to his desk and pulls out a sheet of paper. He waves his wand, and a quill starts filling out a rush order for Madam Malkin. Three square feet of leather and some rubber soling. It’s better to have extra than too little, and besides, Edward could do with a few pairs of shoes.

“What are you doing?” Edward asks. He’s still standing near the door, his hands in his pockets. His metal foot taps the floor at an impatient tempo.

“Ordering the materials you need.” The quill finishes writing with a flourish. Albus watches it fold itself up, then whistles.

Not a moment later, the air in front of his desk bursts into flame, and Fawkes appears.

Edward shouts, falling into a fighting stance with ease. “What the hell is that?” he demands.

“Stand down, Edward,” Albus says, trying to keep the note of amusement out of his voice. “This is Fawkes. He’s a phoenix.”

Edward lowers his fists slowly. “A phoenix? I thought those were a myth.”

“Perhaps in your world they are, but here they are quite real.” Albus holds the letter out to Fawkes, who takes it delicately in his beak. “To Madam Malkin, at her earliest convenience.”

Fawkes chirps, muffled slightly by the paper, and flies out through the open window.

Edward stares after the bird, then turns back to Albus. “Why didn’t he just burst into flame again? Or would that burn the note?”

“It wouldn’t, but sometimes Fawkes prefers to fly. Phoenixes can move very quickly even without their Apparating abilities.”

“Apparating?” Edward asks, and Albus is reminded, once again, that this boy knows nothing about magic. Albus is used to the wide-eyed wonder and incessant questions of first years, but the boy in front of him is the equivalent of a sixth year, and yet he has none of the knowledge a boy his age should. It’s disorienting.

Not disorienting enough to throw Albus, though. He responds, “Apparition is what we call the ability to disappear from one place and reappear in another at will. Many magical creatures have this ability, as do wizards.”

“Oh, teleportation, sure,” Edward says, tone tinged with sarcasm. “Why shouldn’t you be able to teleport?”

Albus raises an eyebrow. While the sarcasm isn’t unexpected from Edward, it does appear unwarranted this time. “Why does this concept upset you?”

Edward scowls. “I’m not _upset_. I’m… Actually, yeah, I’m upset. What makes this world so special? You can make stuff appear out of nowhere, you can appear and disappear, and you have alchemy?! Why can you ignore the Laws of Equivalent Exchange and Natural Provenance?”

Albus sighs. “I don’t know, Edward. It’s just the way of our world.”

Edward clearly doesn’t like this answer, but he doesn’t protest, simply folding his arms and glaring at the ground. Albus takes a moment to appreciate the way his metal arm moves, the fingers twitching in irritation. It’s truly a magnificent piece of technology, and the fact that it works even when surrounded by magic is practically unheard of. Mechanical inventions, sure, but Albus doesn’t know the inner workings of the limbs or what they’re powered by. Electricity seems a likely choice, but if it was, they wouldn’t work at Hogwarts. Albus would love a chance to examine them more closely, and he’s certain he won’t get that chance. He doesn’t know Edward very well, but Albus can guess that the boy wouldn’t take kindly to requests for a closer look. Someone as used to combat as Edward seems to be wouldn’t want to reveal any weaknesses. Albus thinks Alastor would like this boy, which is a disturbing thought all on its own.

While Albus has been lost in thought, Edward has begun to explore the office. It holds many interesting trinkets, and the boy’s eyes move from object to object with curiosity. He doesn’t touch anything, but Albus gets the feeling that he’s deconstructing everything he sees in his head, trying to figure out how it works.

“What are you going to tell Severus and that lady you were talking to about me?” Edward asks suddenly.

Albus startles, but recovers before Edward can catch his surprise. “That will be Professors Snape and McGonagall to you. And I’ll tell them whatever you would like me to tell them. The same goes for the other professors.”

Edward ponders for a moment, then says, “You can tell them whatever they need to hear. Just keep the automail, the alchemy, and the other universe a secret.”

Albus nods, finding this an agreeable idea. “Very well. Would you like to be here when I tell them?”

Edward shrugs. “Sure, why not. It’ll be fun to see them try to figure me out, I guess.”

That was not what Albus had hoped his reasoning would be. He wants to engender trust between Edward and his staff, not prod at suspicions until they blossom into wary hate. However, it’s up to Edward how this goes. Albus can only guide a conversation so much, and Edward isn’t someone for whom things go smoothly. His only hope is that the boy manages to hold his tongue.

Albus almost wishes he won’t. It would be more interesting that way, but also more inconvenient, and it would likely set Minerva and Severus against him. Albus really needs to stop hoping for the more interesting option.

“Is food only served in the Great Hall?” Edward asks suddenly.

Albus doesn’t startle (much). He answers, “Yes, but if you would like, I can show you to the kitchens. The house elves are always happy to provide for hungry students.”

“House elves? What are those?”

“They’re magical creatures that are born to serve wizards,” Albus begins to explain.

Edward interrupts. “What do you mean, born to serve? How can a creature evolve to do that? That doesn’t make any sense!”

Albus spreads his hands. “I’m not well-versed on the history of house elves, but I swear, their purpose in life is to serve. It’s what makes them happy.”

Edward scoffs. “Seems real convenient to me, wizards just happening to find this creature that wants nothing more than to serve them,” he mumbles. “That’s all I’m saying.”

The old headmaster has to admit that he’d never given the matter much thought. While his own family had never had an elf, he had grown up with house elves being a fact of life. Many of his friends talked of their elves as beloved housekeepers, members of the family in their own right. Of course, there were those that treated their elves poorly. As a boy, Albus hadn’t seen that as much of a problem, but as he grew, his self-centered views had faded, and he had compassion for those elves cursed with cruel owners.

But the thought that house elves were not a natural product of the magical world had never even occurred to him. The more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes, and Albus feels bile rise in his throat at the idea that wizards ages ago had done something to the elves to make them subservient.

“You raise a very interesting point, Edward,” he says, trying not to let his disquiet show. Edward raises an eyebrow at him, and Albus is sure the boy sees it anyway. He’s very observant. “However, I assure you that the elves at Hogwarts are treated very well, and no matter how they came to be, serving others makes them happy now. Besides, even if I were to free them, most house elves consider a dismissal to be the ultimate disgrace.”

Edward doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Okay. Sure. Whatever, I guess. So. Food?”

Despite his discomfort, Albus can’t help but smile at Edward’s casual attitude. “Yes. Shall we go to the kitchens?”

“Lead the way, gramps.”

*end of chapter three*


	5. 4: who is this kid?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva and Severus try to figure out Edward, with little success. The staff of Hogwarts are summoned for a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new POV! we're trying something else! let me know if you like this POV, and what other POVs you'd be interested in seeing!

Minerva has always prided herself on her ability to read Albus. He’s notoriously difficult to comprehend, being one of the most brilliant wizards of the age, but she’s been his employee for long enough, and his friend for longer, that she can usually tell what he’s planning. She knows, for example, that he has some information on Severus that he used to make the former Death Eater come to their side, and even if she doesn’t know what that information is, she knows it’s powerful.

This, though… Minerva has no idea what’s going on.

“Who was that child?” she asks Severus after Albus and the boy leave.

Severus is frowning- not an unusual expression for the Potions Master, but it seems more robust than usual. “His name is Edward and he came to the castle last night. He was the business Albus left on.”

Minerva gapes. “He left for that boy? Why?”

“Apparently, he set off the wards Albus placed in Godric’s Hollow,” Severus says meaningfully. “The headmaster tested him for magic and discovered he had the ability.”

That’s useful information. “He was in Godric’s Hollow? And a boy of his age hadn’t been brought to a school?”

Severus shrugs, his black robes rustling with the movement. “That’s all the headmaster told me. I suggest you ask him yourself later.”

Minerva scowls at the younger man, but he simply stares back implacably, and she sighs. “Very well,” she replies stiffly. “We’ll raise the matter together and demand further explanation.” She returns to her eggs and toast, sure that Severus has no more to share.

This is apparently not the case, as he soon continues, “I did hear a little bit more from Edward himself.”

Minerva doesn’t look up. “Oh?” she prompts.

“Apparently he visited the hospital wing shortly after he arrived.” Severus finishes his last bite of sausage, puts down his utensils, and rises from his seat. “Would you care to accompany me to ask Poppy about him?”

Minerva frowns down at her plate. On the one hand, Albus will surely tell them what they need to know at their post-lunch meeting. On the other, the headmaster is notoriously tight-lipped, and more information about potential threats is always best. Not even Albus Dumbledore is infallible.

“Very well,” she says, patting her face with her napkin before joining Severus. “Let’s see what she has to say on the matter.”

\\\\\|||///

Poppy is not as forthcoming as Minerva had hoped she would be.

“That boy’s medical troubles are his own private business,” she scolds them both. Minerva takes it, because Poppy Pomfrey may be years her junior, but she’s far more motherly than Minerva ever was.

Severus is not as easily curtailed. “We don’t need to know about the reasons he came,” he amends. “Just anything you noticed about him otherwise. The way he interacted with the headmaster. Where he’s from, perhaps.”

Poppy scoffs. “I heard nothing of the sort, and while I’m sure you’ve both observed his… lackluster conduct, I wouldn’t say I learned anything that anyone couldn’t see immediately. And if I had, I wouldn’t be telling you, Severus Snape!” she snaps.

This seems to properly chastise Severus, who glowers but relents. Minerva smirks behind his back. Poppy never ceases to impress.

“Sorry for bothering you, Poppy,” Minerva quickly says, nudging Severus with her elbow. “We’ll be on our way now.”

As they leave, Poppy mutters something like, “nosy professors,” but Minerva ignores it. She’s been called nosy before. Inquisitiveness has kept her alive.

The doors swing shut with a resounding groan, and for a moment, the teachers stand there at a loss.

“I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait until Albus tells us more,” Minerva says to Severus, who makes a face like he’s swallowed a lemon.

“I just don’t trust the boy,” Severus grumbles. “He appears in Godric’s Hollow, apparently from nowhere, setting off wards that Albus has to leave the castle to investigate, and he can do magic? And hasn’t been schooled yet, at his age? It’s highly suspicious!”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Minerva replies, “but there’s nothing we can do to learn more about Edward right now.”

“Did you say Edward?” asks an unfamiliar voice. Severus and Minerva glance around in shock. “Over here, professors!” They both turn to the wall, where a woman in a red dress with long, braided hair waves out at them from a painting of a forest glen.

“You know the Edward we’re speaking of?” Severus asks, intrigued.

“I met him earlier this morning,” the painted woman replies. “Edward Elric, right?”

That’s something. That’s a _surname_. Minerva and Severus exchange excited and bewildered glances.

“Yes, I met him this morning, and Severus encountered him last night,” Minerva explains. “And you, Miss…”

“Wilderwood,” the painting says. “Delfina Wilderwood. And I met Edward this morning. Led him to the Great Hall, in fact.”

“How did he seem to you?” Severus asks urgently.

Delfina strokes her chin. “Well, he’s not very polite, is he? Barely even thanked me for leading him around.” She pauses, and her hand drops from her face. “He’s an odd boy. Something about him… isn’t right.”

“How so?” Minerva prompts.

The painted woman looks uncertain. “I can’t say for sure. He was just… obviously too old to be a student. And he asked me for help, which few students ever do. And-” She cuts herself off suddenly, looking guilty. “On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t say.”

Severus lets out a frustrated noise, and Minerva shoots him a look to subdue him. It does no good getting upset.

“Please, Miss Wilderwood,” Minerva entreats. “Tell us what you observed.”

Unfortunately, it seems politeness is not the solution to everything. Delfina’s face closes off, and she says sternly, “I think that’s something best left to Edward to share.” With that, she walks away without a backward glance.

It’s strange, Minerva thinks, that Delfina is so loyal to a boy she met earlier that morning, a boy she herself professed to be “odd.” What oddness could preclude such behavior? What was Edward hiding?

Severus is scowling again, as he so often is. “Useless,” he growls, spinning around and storming down the corridor. Minerva hurries to catch up.

“We’ll be seeing Albus after lunch,” she reminds him. “We’re sure to get _some_ explanation.”

“Yes, but the truth? Not likely,” Severus retorts.

Minerva doesn’t want to concede the point, but she finds she can’t argue. Albus went off with Edward to talk about something, likely what would be told to the teachers. Albus wouldn’t need time to prepare if he was planning on telling them everything. Evidently they’re hiding something.

“Just because they’re hiding something doesn’t mean it’s bad,” she adds, diverting the conversation from Albus’s ambiguous honesty. “Perhaps it’s just private.”

Severus nods distractedly, obviously not registering her suggestion. “Yes. Well, I have some lessons to plan. I’ll take my leave, Minerva.”

And with that, he swoops away, leaving Minerva in the middle of the corridor, alone.

“Prick,” she mutters once he’s far enough away. She hears a painting or two snicker. Then she sets off for her own classroom, intent on getting some work done before her meeting with the headmaster.

\\\\\|||///

Lunch is far busier than breakfast was, with the students descending ravenously upon the food piled high on golden platters. Meals are never the most civilized at Hogwarts, what with all the pre-adolescents gathered in one place, and on the weekends it’s exacerbated by everyone’s excitement to be out of class. Normally, Minerva can tune out the noise, but today it’s getting on her nerves.

That and the fact that Albus is nowhere to be seen. She and Severus had exchanged several significant looks when they’d arrived to find the headmaster’s seat empty, and whispered conversation when the meal went on and he still failed to appear. The other teachers are just as confused, glancing over at the head chair repeatedly.

The meal is nearly finished when a flurry of pink notices fly through the open doors to the Great Hall, swirling above the heads of the students and coming to rest in front of each of the teachers. They all appear nonplussed, except for Severus, of course. All of them recognize the headmaster’s distinctive stationery, but only Severus and Minerva have an inkling of what’s going on.

Sure enough, when Minerva unfolds her slip, Albus’s handwriting loops across it, inviting her to a staff meeting in the teacher’s lounge after lunch. She supposes Albus sent them to her and Severus so as to not single them out for already knowing about it, which she appreciates.

“Guess he’ll be telling everyone about Edward,” she says quietly to Severus, who bites into a piece of chicken with unnecessary ferocity. He’s still peeved about not finding out more about Edward before the meeting, Minerva guesses.

“Good,” the Potions master hisses. “I’d like to hear an explanation of where he came from.”

Minerva has to quell an eye roll. “I’m sure they’ll cover it. Finish up, we only have ten minutes before the meeting.”

They eat quickly, and leave the room before the other teachers. Minerva wants to catch Albus before the rest of the staff do, and she’s sure Severus wants the same.

They make their way up the stairs and through the corridors to the teacher’s lounge. When they open the door, Albus is already there, standing before the fireplace and gazing into the cheerfully crackling flames. He turns when he hears the creak and smiles at them. “Ah, the first ones here. Please, take a seat.”

Minerva settles herself on an armchair, but Severus remains standing. He sneers and asks, “Where’s Edward?”

“Edward will be joining us once everyone else has arrived,” Albus replies, not fazed by Severus’s manner. “I thought it best to wait until we were all together before introducing him.”

To Minerva, this makes sense. Severus seems to see the reason in it, for he huffs and strides over to lean against the wall.

Minerva takes this chance to inquire, “Where exactly is Edward from?”

Albus is still smiling serenely when he says, “Why, I haven’t the faintest.”

Severus’s jaw drops. Minerva is similarly gobsmacked.

“He hasn’t told you?” Severus demands.

“No, and I haven’t asked,” Albus replies. “He has told me, however, that he has no home to return to. I think it’s safe to assume that, wherever he’s from, it has little to do with who he is now.”

Severus disagrees, and displays it by vehemently saying, “You can’t _know_ that, because you don’t know where he’s from!”

The headmaster doesn’t appear bothered by Severus’s outburst. “I assure you, Severus, I know enough. Edward has disclosed certain facts of his past with me that I will not share, but I promise he is no threat.”

A promise from Albus is not to be taken lightly. He doesn’t make a commitment to anything unless he’s sure of it. It may seem like he’s quick to make decisions, but only because he can think through the outcomes of a choice faster than anyone Minerva has ever met, and know exactly what to do to achieve the outcome he desires. When Albus makes a promise, he knows, for certain, that what he says is true.

That should be enough for Minerva. It has been countless times before. But perhaps she’s been hanging around Severus too much; his paranoia is rubbing off on her. That and Delfina’s words from earlier are still running through her head. _An odd boy. Something about him just isn’t right._

“Headmaster,” she says, “what is Edward Elric hiding?”

That seems to startle Albus. He stares at her with something akin to fascination.

“Edward… Elric,” he says. The pause between the names makes Minerva uneasy. Surely Albus had known the boy’s last name!

Severus catches the slip as well, and his eyes widen in anger. “You know nothing about this boy!” he blurts out. “Not even his surname! And yet you bring him here, to this castle full of students you are sworn to protect and teach!”

The smile has finally left Albus’s face. He looks gravely serious.

“Severus, calm yourself,” he instructs heavily. “I would never bring a threat to this school. You’re getting worked up over an innocent child who requires our instruction.”

The Potions master has not calmed himself in the slightest and appears to be gearing up for another onslaught when Minerva interrupts. “What do you mean by ‘our instruction?’” she asks suspiciously.

Just then, the door swings open, admitting the rest of the staff, who either all finished lunch in remarkable unison or decided to travel together. All of the teachers file in. Even Binns floats through the door. He’s followed by Poppy, and then Filch. At this Minerva raises a brow. When Hagrid enters, managing to shoulder his way through the door despite being several feet taller than the frame, her other brow joins the first. Irma is the last to join them, and that’s the entire staff of Hogwarts all together.

Albus’s countenance shows no sign of his previous severity. He looks serene once more, and his smile is firmly affixed.

“Excellent, you’re all here,” he says brightly. “Please, sit down everyone.”

There are enough seats for everyone, but Hagrid remains standing at the back of the room. Some gaze curiously at Severus’s heaving shoulders, but most are focused on the headmaster.

“What’s all this about, Albus?” Aurora askes. “It’s not like you to call a meeting so suddenly.”

There is a general murmured consensus. Staff meetings are scheduled monthly, and none of them remember the last time they were all summoned on such short notice. Only Poppy and Severus are silent, the first staring resolutely at the headmaster, the other glaring.

“Yes,” Severus says, acid in his voice. “Tell them, _Headmaster_.”

This sets off some disapproving titters, particularly from Irma and Pomona.

Albus sighs, sending Severus a disappointed glance that he scoffs at. “I was about to do just that,” he says calmly. He turns to the assembled staff. “Now, this will be surprising to many of you, but the business I had to attend to last night resulted in me finding a young man stranded in Godric’s Hollow. He had never heard of magic outside of stories, but I tested him and discovered that he had the ability. He’s already fifteen and he’s never had proper training, so it’s astonishing he’s lasted this long.”

“Fifteen?!” Pomona exclaims. “That’s more than astonishing, it’s unprecedented!”

Albus nods. “Yes, precisely. Now, he’s far too old to start off with the first years, so I’d hoped all of you would help me in tutoring him. He insisted that he give us something in return for his lessons, so he’ll be assisting Hagrid and Mr. Filch in the caretaking of our castle.”

There is a moment of silence. Then everyone starts talking at once. Filch is spitting with fury, yelling that he doesn’t need some _kid_ helping him around the castle. The teachers’ words are harder to make out under the shouting, but Minerva gets the gist. Why is this boy so special? Why should they take time out of their schedules to teach him? Who even _is_ he?

Severus and Poppy are quiet. Severus looks too enraged to speak, while Poppy is contemplative.

“Quiet down, please!” Albus cries out. His raised voice brings all the shouting to a halt. Albus doesn’t yell. He’s usually able to diffuse a situation calmly. When he starts yelling, it means he’s extremely serious.

“Now,” he continues, “I would like you all to meet this young man before you pass judgement. Also, I’ll remind you all that it is our _duty_ to help young witches and wizards in need. This boy needs our help.”

Many of the professors seem suitably chastised. Minerva crosses her arms. She’ll see how they react to Edward’s less-than-stellar manners.

As if he used Legilimency, Albus calls, “You can come in now, Edward.”

The door opens, and Edward Elric walks into the room. He’s wearing different clothes than he was that morning, but they’re similar to the old ones, a black jacket over a black shirt and pants. He’s also wearing white gloves and a pair of boots, both of which she’s certain he didn’t have on before. The boots add a couple of inches to his unimpressive height.

“Yo,” he says. “The name’s Edward Elric. Nice to meet you all.”

*end of chapter four*


End file.
